


Cry Havoc (in Quatrains)

by Lycaste



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Antagonism, Bickering, Crack, Embarrassment, Gen, Manipulation, NOTICE ME MEGATRON!, Poetry, Psychological Warfare, tfw the biggest asshole you know catches you crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9148999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycaste/pseuds/Lycaste
Summary: When Overlord catches Tarn crying, it sets off a new war between them. On the battlefield of poetry, the skirmish for Megatron's attention has begun.





	1. Overlord

**Author's Note:**

> Some quick, lightly edited thing that I threw on Tumblr. Decided to put it here too.
> 
> This can have OverTarn and/or MegaStar undertones if you want but it doesn't have to (although to me it totally does!).

 

 

Overlord was not a religious mech, but watching Tarn tremble and hiccup made him rethink his previous stance on the existence of Primus. _Is he…crying? He IS!_

Tarn hastily wiped at the obvious tears leaking down the mask. “Don’t you ever knock?”

“Awwwwww,” said Overlord, fairly certain his own face was going to break in half from how hard he was smiling. He was dangerously close to labeling this the funniest thing he’d ever seen that didn’t involve decapitation. “Are we having ourselves a little cry? What happened, did Starscream make fun of you again?”

“Shut up,” snarled Tarn. “I am _not_  crying.” His engine hitched between the words ‘not’ and ‘crying’.

“What are you listening to?” Overlord grabbed at the case on top of Tarn’s sound system and groaned. “The complete works of Megatron of Tarn. You’re listening to recordings of Megatron’s poetry and weeping?” Okay, now this was edging towards being the most pathetic thing he’d ever seen. Still funny though.

Tarn snatched back the case and held it close. “I wouldn’t expect an uncultured plebeian like you to understand.”

“I didn’t realize blubbering alone was the gateway to being cultured,” said Overlord. “Not that it matters anyway. You _know_  I’m his favorite.”

It was Tarn’s turn to laugh, a booming chuckle delivered in his rich baritone. “Now my tears are from amusement.”

“So you admit they’re tears!” said Overlord.

“N-no.” Tarn set the case back down reverently. “It’s just a coolant malfunction. And my mask is on too tight.”

There was something so alluring about Tarn’s vulnerability. Most of Megatron’s powerful mechs buried it deep down, where one had to traverse multiple layers of the psyche for ultimate antagonism. But Tarn’s was right underneath the surface, vibrant and exposed and just waiting for Overlord to pluck it out and strangle him with it. 

Tarn sniffled and brushed at his optics again, his backstrut straightening as if daring Overlord to mock him.

Overlord’s mouth went dry. “Too tight, huh?” He rubbed his hands together. This really should’ve been too easy, instead it was too much fun. “Then perhaps you need me to loosen it for you.”


	2. Tarn

 

The most effective way to deal with Overlord was to put forth the right level of outward indifference. Too engaged and you became a target, too aloof and you became an intriguing mystery. The trick to minimal harassment was to remain bland. To be unemotional and uninteresting.

Tarn was painfully aware that he had blown that all to the Pit.

He’d _sworn_  he’d locked the door to his quarters yesterday. But Overlord had somehow burst in, caught Tarn crying, and had then proceeded to mock him for exalting their glorious leader and cause.

It was absurd. As if a few tears were something to be ashamed of. The Decepticons were built from passion. If Megatron’s spark-breaking words didn’t strike a chord in the deepest part of a mech, then what would? Tarn was proud to be a bot of both intensity and depth. There was nothing wrong with becoming a little emotional over a beautiful work of art.

That didn’t, however, mean he wanted Overlord to bring it up during today’s meeting with Decepticon High Command.

For a few consecrated moments, as Tarn had taken a seat at the table across from Megatron and Starscream, it had appeared that fortune might smile on him. Overlord wasn’t there. Ten glorious minutes went by, and Tarn had the audacity to believe he might be spared. But now Overlord was walking in, uncaring and unapologetic.

“Good to see you didn’t start without me,” said Overlord, completely ignoring the fact that they  _had_  started without him. He sat down and nodded towards Tarn. “Tarn.”

Tarn cringed. Yes, Overlord was going to bring it up. “Overlord.”

“Are you feeling better?” asked Overlord. “You weren’t looking so good yesterday.”

Inwardly, Tarn was weeping all over again. This was going to be so humiliating, and in front of Lord Megatron too. “Yes, quite.”

“Enough pleasantries,” snapped Megatron. He motioned to their agenda on the display. “I have these items we need to get through.”

Overlord, proving that he had spent all night eagerly anticipating Tarn’s disgrace, feigned a note of over-exuberance and said, “Look, Tarn. It’s something Megatron wrote. Are you gonna cry?” He put his head in his hands and faked a series of little sobs. “Oh, that third bullet point on the agenda. How it moves me...”

Everything in Tarn’s frame tightened. His treads felt liquid with shame. If the base suddenly exploded, just the part where he was sitting, he would’ve been okay with that.

“What are you talking about?” asked Starscream.

Overlord beamed a smile that showed all his teeth. “I caught Tarn having a little cry fest yesterday to Megatron’s poetry.”

 _You’re going on The List,_  seethed Tarn inwardly.  _Someday. You’ll be on The List, and I’ll be the one laughing._  He gripped his hands together underneath the table, his insides churning. Becoming angry would give Overlord power. He had to swallow this down, take it like a Decepticon. Looking for an honest yet neutral refuge, he simply said, “I enjoy Lord Megatron’s poetry.”

“Which one?” Megatron’s voice held nothing but curiosity. “Which poem?”

“Oh,” answered Tarn, a bit taken aback by Megatron’s interest. “ _Shaped by Shapeism_ , my Lord.”

There was a murmur of assent around the table. “That poem: my favorite,” said Soundwave.

Tarn nearly fell out of his chair. He had the same favorite poem as Soundwave?! How delightful.

Megatron nodded. “What do you like about it?”

“Everything,” said Tarn. “I love everything about it. The powerful yet sparing choice of words. How you translate the pain of your experience to the pain of all our experiences. The artful and cutting critique of society. But also the structure of the work itself. I know you normally prefer free verse, but your choice of an ABBA rhyme scheme gives the message a...” Tarn untangled his hands and gracefully floated his fingers across an imaginary, sumptuous ocean. “...a lyrical quality that I find most pleasing.”

Overlord unhinged his jaw in an exaggerated yawn. He made some smacking noises, as though just coming back online after a long time in recharge.

A quick, tight surge of anger shivered through Tarn. Mocking him was one thing, but how _dare_ Overlord mock Megatron’s writings? 

“Of course you find it boring,” said Tarn. “It’s not about the overt violence of the arena, it’s about the violence we ultimately do to ourselves, and its relationship to an oppressive society. I’m not surprised you didn’t understand it. The work makes extensive use of nuanced emotion and metaphor.”

He quickly added, “That is when a resemblance of two different objects is made based on one or more common characteristics.”

Before Overlord could respond, Starscream uttered a sharp bark of laughter. “He has you there, Overlord.”

Tarn tipped his head in acknowledgement. Starscream had no loyalty in these meetings. He flitted from support to criticism, allying himself with different mechs depending on whose views most supported his own. Usually this resulted in Tarn being undermined, but perhaps fortune was smiling on him today after all.

Megatron shared a glance with Soundwave. “That was quite a summation, General Tarn. I appreciate such a thoughtful response.”

Tarn’s t-cog shivered and felt like it would engage on its own. _Do not transform._ He tried to keep his voice even, but his normally measured words came out in a rush. “I could recite it for you, if you like. I’ve honed my cadence perfectly.”

Overlord’s predatory grin was immediate, and Tarn bit his tongue behind the mask. That had come off way too eager, and they both knew it. Megatron hated sycophants. Overlord would waste no time in using that to vie for control of the conversation.

“Please, Tarn,” said Overlord dramatically. “Spare me the vicarious embarrassment.”

“Shut up,” said Starscream. He fixed Tarn with a wicked stare, his wings rising high. “I wanna see him do it.”

“Now you’re-“

“Overlord.” Megatron’s interruption was a towering thunderclap, startling everyone in the room to silence. Slowly, he raised a finger to his own lips and said, “Ssshhh.”

Starscream smirked. Soundwave shook his head. And Tarn employed every ounce of his immense sense of discipline to not drum his hands on the table and giggle. Lord Megatron had _shushed_ Overlord!

And Overlord was roiling over it too. He made a ‘whatever’ hand gesture, but Tarn knew him far too well. The shift in the EM pattern, the purse of those lips. The more he pretended he didn’t care, the more it would bother him. That was arguably the most satisfying part.

“I think I should like to hear this as well,” said Megatron, his desire to get through the meeting seemingly abandoned. “I haven’t attended a recitation in years.”

Starscream gave Megatron a (appallingly disrespectful, in Tarn’s opinion) whack on the arm, pointed at Tarn, and said, “Ten shanix says he chokes and screws it up.”

Megatron turned off the holographic display and gave Tarn his full and terrifyingly focused attention. “Twenty says he doesn’t.”

 _Do not transform. Do not transform._ Tarn relaxed his hands and rebooted his vocalizer, a surge of confidence running through him. Lord Megatron believed in him. Respected him.

After all, that’s why Tarn was made leader of the DJD and Overlord was frequently assigned to the battles furthest away from High Command. Tarn was one of the most valued Decepticons alive. Overlord played like it was amateur hour.

This would make such a good story to tell Kaon later.

Tarn stood and rolled his head on his neck struts. He rebooted his vocalizer one more time, and threw an almost-visible smile to Overlord. “Try not to cry when I move you.”

And there, basking in the warm glow of Megatron’s fierce attention and the cold fury of Overlord’s badly concealed moping, Tarn began to wax poetic.


	3. Starscream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I liked where the previous chapter ended and was planning on just leaving it there, but then a few people wanted to know what happened next. Honestly? I think it was this...

 

 

Tarn did not, by any stretch of the imagination, screw it up.

Starscream could admit that. It would have been pointless to say otherwise. Tarn’s performance was exceptional. He really had honed his cadence perfectly, his rich voice reciting Megatron’s poem with the optimal pitch and rhythm. Every word had flowed so melodically, infused with tangible passion and spark-wrenching emotion. Even his gesticulations were flawless. He’d moved his hands at all the right points, as though he were guiding the concepts to their inevitable conclusion.

It was mildly disappointing that Tarn hadn’t turned into the daunted, intimidated mess that Starscream had predicted. But disappointment was overshadowed by pleasure. It was, after all, one of Starscream’s favorite poems as well. A poem that had shaped the course of his own life, given a voice to all the anger and confused aimlessness he had felt when he was young. To hear it again, so beautiful and authentic, chilled him right down to the spark.

Ever polite, Tarn bowed deeply. “I do hope that was adequate.” His voice remained confident, but his gun turrets trembled and his treads were rotating.

 _Look at him_ , thought Starscream. _So desperate for validation._ Normally he would’ve been happy to swoop in and crush the pseudointellectual sycophant’s self-esteem, but the performance had been too good. Accepting defeat, Starscream whooped and clapped his hands. “Nice. Very nice.”

Soundwave clapped as well, much softer. “Excellent.”

Overlord was propping up his cheek with his fist, as if he were struggling to stay awake. He released a loud puff of bored air and said, “Meh.”

All heads swiveled towards Megatron. Their leader regarded Tarn thoughtfully for a while, keeping them all in a state of curious suspense, before he nodded and said, “Outstanding.”

“Oh.” Tarn bowed again, shaking like he might collapse. “Thank you, Lord Megatron. It was my great honor.”

“Well,” said Megatron. He extended a hand towards Starscream.

Starscream cocked an orbital ridge, before taking Megatron’s hand and shaking it. “Air Commander Starscream. Nice to meet you.”

Megatron’s hold around his fingers tightened to the point of pain. “I believe you owe me something?”

“Ah,” said Starscream with a snicker. He wormed his fingers from Megatron’s grip. “Fair enough.”

Popping his subspace panel, Starscream rummaged through his personal storage and produced two golden coins. He slapped them on the table and pushed them towards Megatron.

Megatron took them, looking at Starscream like the coins might bite. “You keep actual currency on you?”

Starscream shrugged. “I need something for poetry bets.” Truly, he didn’t store a lot of items on his person. Even the transwarp void of subspace could affect a Seeker’s delicate flight systems if it were too full. So he restricted himself to a few coins, a tiny blaster, and a small picture of Megatron from the gladiator days. (One that he still fully intended to throw away. Later.)

“Can we get on with this now?” whined Overlord. “Some of us have actual things to do.”

Starscream grinned at him. And to think, he’d almost tried to get out of this meeting. But it had totally been worth it just to see Overlord get so annoyed and then try to pretend like he wasn’t. He couldn’t wait to tell Thundercracker and Skywarp (and everyone else on the base) about how Megatron had shushed one of the Decepticon’s most frightening warriors.

It was a shame that they had to get back to business. Between Tarn’s beautiful recitation and Overlord getting put in his place, this had been the most entertaining meeting in recent memory. At the very least, he could stand to hear more poetry.

Starscream sucked in a sudden gasp of air at the thought. That was a _great_ idea. Why not try to keep this going? It would both burn Overlord and ratchet up the tension between him and Tarn. A win-win situation all around. For Starscream, anyway.

Swallowing down the urge to laugh maniacally, Starscream placed his hand on Megatron’s shoulder, flashed his most charming smile, and said, “Buy me an encore.”

“Excuse me?” said Megatron.

“You heard me,” said Starscream. He withdrew with a pout. “You’re flush now. Buy me an encore.”

“As if I’d spend my winnings on you,” scoffed Megatron. “And we do still have a meeting to get through.”

Starscream nearly onlined his thrusters. This was _too_ perfect. “Are you saying bureaucracy is more important to you than the arts?” He gestured towards a hopeful looking Tarn. “Are you saying he should stick to his assigned function as an aggressive tank, and not explore the path of the poet?”

Megatron glared at him, clearly realizing the corner that Starscream was backing him into. A functionist argument. Cheap but effective, and leaving Megatron little room to maneuver.

Starscream feigned an innocent expression. The rest of them thought they were so good at manipulating Megatron’s attention. What a laugh.

There was a scratching sound from beneath Soundwave’s side of the table, and Ravage suddenly popped his head into view. “I could hear another.” At Soundwave’s sharp glance he said, “What? That was awesome.”

Soundwave seemed to consider this, and then shrugged and monotoned, “It was awesome.”

“Yes!” crowed Starscream. He pounded a fist on the table. “Encore! Encore!”

“Yeah,” said Ravage. “Encore!”

Megatron’s lip quirked in a way that Starscream recognized meant he was about sixty percent amused and forty percent irritated, the ideal mixture for Megatron malleability. He motioned for quiet. “Very well.”

Tarn looked like he was just crowned Cybertron’s poet laureate. He wrung his hands together. “Of course, if you wish it.”

“However,” said Megatron. He fiddled with the coins, examining them. “For _twenty_ whole shanix, I’d like to hear something I haven’t heard before. Do you have any original work?”

Tarn’s engine stuttered. “Y-yes,” he wheezed.

 _He is gonna pass out,_ thought Starscream. He spared a glance at Overlord, whose teeth were visibly grinding. Overlord angry. Tarn off kilter and in danger of revealing way too much about himself through his own poetry. Those two overpowered idiots at odds with each other. _Best meeting ever._

Megatron slid the coins down the table towards Tarn. “Then regale us, General. Something of your own creation.”

Overlord sneered. “Are you seriously-“

“Overlord,” snapped Starscream. Unable to help himself, he put a finger to his own lips. He didn’t make the shushing sound, but the _shut the frag up no one cares_ was unmistakable.

Invisible strings of confidence seemed to pull Tarn up once again. “I call this one _Unmasked_.” He began to speak, washing the words over them in his luscious timbre.

Starscream laced his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, confident that no one could get what they wanted from Megatron like he could.

 

The End

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sweats* oh no, I wrote this as a sfw joke and accidentally made myself start shipping Overlord/Tarn really hard. Nooooo!!! There may be a fully fledged, dark humor cracksmut sequel to this someday...


End file.
